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HEART THUMPING HARD IN HIS CHEST, leg aching from having walked so far and so fast, Roland slowed his steps as Caitlyn’s little yellow ranch house on the next corner came into view. A washed-out gray sky hung overhead, sunbeams piercing through here and there. Was he just going to go up and knock on the door? What would she think? What if she was in the middle of dinner or something? Or she had friends over? He should’ve called.
But he hadn’t meant to come all the way over here. After dinner—they’d eaten at home tonight—he’d gotten permission from Papa to take a walk before he did his homework, using the need to exercise his leg as an excuse. Thoughts about the investigation had hounded his every step along Forest Road and past the downtown square, and next thing he knew . . . there was her house. If his leg didn’t hurt so badly, he might keep on walking. But it wouldn’t kill him to visit. He’d wanted to talk to her and still hadn’t found the opportunity at school. He hadn’t even talked with Peter today. But then, Peter had seemed uncharacteristically sullen and distant.
Roland stopped on the sidewalk on the corner opposite Caitlyn’s house, in front of a rundown two-story with a missing window shutter. He fished his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, brought up her number, and then froze with his thumb hovering over the phone icon. He swiped the message icon instead and tapped out a text.
Hey. What are you doing right now?
He glanced up at her house and then turned toward the street. In case she looked out a window, he didn’t want to seem like a stalker.
A silly shriek came from the direction of Caitlyn’s house. Then a little girl called out, “There’s that cute boy you like.” Giggling followed.
Temperature rising, Roland stuffed his phone away and turned toward the house.
The screen door squeaked open, and Caitlyn stumbled out running a hand through her long red locks. She wore a casual dress that reminded him of an artist’s palette, with splashes of blue, orange and yellow.
Roland tried to suppress the ridiculously huge smile that threatened to stretch across his face as he crossed the street.
“Oh, hi, what are you doing here?” She descended the porch steps in her bare feet, stepped on a squashed juice box, and hopped on one foot.
“Taking a walk.” He cut across a lawn strewn with red and yellow plastic climbing and riding toys.
She stopped four feet from him, twisted her arms in front of her, and slid one foot back and forth in the grass—probably wiping off juice from the box she’d stepped on.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, though her clumsy awkwardness made him feel more at ease than when around other girls.
“I’m glad you stopped because I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” she said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
She stared at him for a moment. A sunbeam found her, turning her green eyes to crystals and her flyaway curls into burnished copper. In the next moment, she grabbed his arm.
His heart leaped, and his thoughts scattered.
“I want to show you something.” She tugged him toward the house, releasing his arm once they reached the porch steps. Then she thumped up the stairs first and yanked open the screen door. “Mom, can Roland come over?” she shouted over a TV show as she tugged him through the doorway.
Her mother stood over a sinkful of dishes in their little kitchen. “How about after we get these dishes done?” She turned and glanced over the open kitchen bar counter toward the living room.
“Hi, Mrs. Summer.” Roland stood just inside the door, unsure of himself. He didn’t want to block the TV from the two on the couch: eight-year-old Stacey and three-year-old David. And he didn’t want to come too far in if she was going to tell him to leave.
“Oh, hi, Roland.” Offering a pleasant smile, she grabbed a dishtowel and stepped away from the sink. Strands of hair hung loose from a sloppy ponytail, red like Caitlyn’s hair. “Did you get a ride here?”
“No, walked.”
“I thought that would be your answer. You do a lot of walking, don’t you? How’s your leg?”
Not wanting her to realize he was favoring his healing leg, he shifted his weight, but a sharp pain shot through his calf and he winced. “Better. But kind of hurts right now. Probably from walking.”
She smiled. “I’m sure exercise is good, but you don’t want to overdo it. I’ll see if Mr. Summer will give you a ride home when you’re done visiting.”
“Mom.” Standing on the opposite side of the kitchen bar counter, Caitlyn stretched her arms across toward her mother in pleading fashion. “I have to show him something in my room. Okay?”
“Why don’t you bring whatever you have to show him out to the living room?”
Caitlyn exhaled, twisting her mouth to one side as she turned toward Roland. The second they made eye contact, her smile was back. “Okay. Wait here.” And she bounced down the little hallway off the kitchen.
“Why don’t you sit down, Roland?” Mrs. Summer gestured toward the living room. “Rest your leg.”
“Yeah, come sit by me.” Stacey dragged a dirty toy tow truck from beside her and set it on her lap, making room for him.
He would’ve preferred to sit alone on the loveseat or in a chair, but he sat down between her and little David, who was spooning puzzle pieces from a big plastic bowl to the mouth of a twelve-inch T-Rex.
Roland’s leg appreciated the rest anyway. He glanced at the cartoon on the TV. As he turned away, he realized what they were watching, and his gaze jerked back to the show.
“That’s Saint Maximilian Kolbe,” Stacey said, probably having noticed his reaction.
“Oh, cool.” He vaguely remembered the saint’s story. He was born in Poland, became a Franciscan priest, and did a lot of missionary work. During World War II, Nazis arrested him and he eventually died—a martyr—having offered his life in exchange for another prisoner.
Maybe Caitlyn had chosen him for her martyr.
A minute later, Caitlyn came into the living room carrying a shoe box tucked under her arm and a big corkboard. “Stacey, why don’t you take David and go play outside?” She set the corkboard on the carpet and leaned it against the coffee table.
David shoved the bowl of puzzle pieces at Roland and climbed off the couch, his T-Rex tumbling to the floor.
Stacey folded her arms and stuck out her lips. “Why?”
With a groan, Caitlyn snatched the TV remote from an end table and shut off the TV. “Because you’ve been watching TV for over an hour.”
“So? You’re not Mom.”
Still holding the shoebox, Caitlyn flung the remote to the loveseat, smiled at Roland, and turned wide eyes to Stacey. “I could call Mom.”
They held each other’s gazes, both looking stubborn. Dishes clanked in the kitchen. A baby fussed somewhere in the house.
“Look, David wants to play with you.” Caitlyn begged with her eyes. “You’re the only one who really knows how to play and get dirty in the backyard.”
Stacey’s expression softened.
“Now go.” She pointed toward the back of the house.
“Fine.” She scooted off the couch. “But I think he’s cute too.”
Roland blinked. Did she mean him?
Caitlyn’s eyes opened wide and she sucked in a breath. Once Stacey bolted from the living room, she exhaled. “Sorry about that.”
Roland glanced away and back, not sure how to respond. “No problem.”
All business now, Caitlyn set the shoebox on the coffee table, sat beside Roland, and angled the corkboard toward them. Pencil drawings of faces lined the top of the board, under the label “suspects.” Names and notecards were underneath, and another row of people at the bottom of the board. “So, I made an evidence board.”
Roland nodded, looking it over. “Nice.”
She gave him a shy smile. “Like in detective shows.”
“Yeah, exactly.” He smiled back, impressed with her zeal. Peter wanted him to work alone but Caitlyn would make the perfect detective partner. “You drew those?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “My phone doesn’t take good pictures. And I don’t know how to get them off my phone anyway.”
Her answer amused him, but he tried not to show it. She’d never had her own phone before. He drew his phone out and snapped a picture of her evidence board. The top pictures included Gavin Wheeler, a few other mean jocks, CW, Trent, and Konner, and the neighbor. The lower pictures included Tessia, the kid with orange hair, the Muslim girl, and a few others from the Empowerment group.
“Did I tell you that I spoke with Tessia?” she said.
“What’d she say?”
“She’s convinced that we did it or else some other intolerant group of kids.”
“So, how’d you word your questions?” He liked that she’d approached Tessia, but he hoped she’d used caution. “I mean, you didn’t give away that we’re investigating, right?”
“I tried not to. She’s in one of my classes, so I sat next to her and told her I was upset by all the mean things going on lately. Which I am, so it wasn’t a lie.”
Gazing at the evidence board, Roland realized she’d put a name down for Brice’s neighbor: Norris Stanton.
He pointed to it. “Hey, how did you—”
She pushed his hand down. “I peeked at his mail.”
“But that’s a—”
“No, it’s only a crime when someone is trying to intercept the mail. I wasn’t. I didn’t want to take or open anything. I just needed a peek.” She bit her lip and seemed to hold her breath for his reply.
“Well, good work. You’d make an awesome detective.”
She smiled, looking pleased.
“And I’m glad he didn’t catch you. You still could’ve gotten into trouble.”
“I’m stealthy.” She pulled the shoebox toward herself, but the lid stayed in her hand while the rest of it crashed at their feet. Notecards, pens, a notebook, and a ball of yarn tumbled out. With a groan, she scooted to the edge of the couch and threw everything back into the box.
“What about you?” She sat back again, put the box on her lap, and pulled out the notebook. “What have you learned from the Empowerment group? They had a special meeting yesterday, right? I heard kids talking about it.”
“Yeah, they want to go camping.”
“Oh, that’s good, isn’t it? Maybe all the suspects and possible targets will be in one place and we can set a trap.” She opened her eyes so wide that the whites showed all around her irises.
He had to suppress another laugh. “I guess it’s good. But I’m not welcome in their group anymore.”
“Oh. Why?”
“I had a few questions, and then I was thrown out.”
“You were rejected . . . by a club for people who feel rejected?”
He shrugged. “Outcast among outcasts, I guess. It doesn’t matter. I wanted to get a list of possible targets, and I’ve got that.” He tapped his phone, which he’d used to make the list.
“I wonder if Peter has anything more—Oh!” She gave him a wide-eyed look. “I forgot to tell you the biggest thing.”
“Which is?”
“The police interviewed me.”
A strange tingling sensation ran through him from head to toe. “How’d that go?”
“I told them everything I noticed that day we helped clean up. And I told them everyone I thought could be a suspect. They can’t possibly suspect the Fire Starters now.”
“So, what’d they say?” Despite her positive attitude, worry grew inside him.
“They asked a lot of questions and wrote everything down. Oh, and they wanted to know what happened to the gas can you found.”
Another wave of dread passed through him. “You told them I found it?”
Her eyes opened wide again. “Should I not have?”
“Uh . . .” Trying to convey a calm attitude, he forced a smile. “No, that’s fine.” What would the police think about him tossing the gas can into the back of his father’s car? No one was with him when he’d found it. One thing for sure, they’d be calling him for an interview soon. Any chance he could discover the culprits before then?
Then he remembered. He had to tell her Peter wanted everyone else to stop investigating. But how? She wasn’t going to like it any more than he liked it. And she really was good at it. “Hey, uh—”
In his peripheral vision he glimpsed movement outside the living room window. Something flew through the air—toward the house. And bam! It crashed against the window. Glass rained down onto the back of the loveseat. A fist-sized stone cracked into the coffee table and thudded to the floor amid glass shards.
Heart leaping to his throat, Roland grabbed Caitlyn and shoved her aside. Then he ran to the screen door. The street and sidewalks were empty. No car. Nobody. Nothing.
Mr. and Mrs. Summer appeared in the living room at once.
“What happened?” Mr. Summer rushed to Roland’s side at the door. “Is everyone okay?”
Mr. Summer stepped outside, muttering to himself about who would do such a thing. Mrs. Summer ushered the rest of the family—who had all come to see what had happened—to another room and went to call the police. Caitlyn returned to the living room and stooped by the rock.
“There’s a note tied to it.” She stood unfolding a white paper.
Roland shot to her side and read over her shoulder.
Tell your boyfriend to stop snooping.
No longer doubting what he had to do, he snatched the note from her, grabbed her shoulders, and turned her to face him. “Okay, we’re done here. No more investigating. Leave the rest to me.”
“What?” Her eyebrows slanted upward, and trouble showed in her pretty green eyes. “But wait. Do you know which martyr I chose?”
Failing to see the relevance, he threw out a random guess. “Uh . . . Maximilian Kolbe?”
“No. Joan of Arc. And do you know what she said?”
He shrugged, having no clue where she was going with this.
“I am not afraid. I was born to do this.” She folded her arms, grim determination coloring her expression. “They’re trying to scare us. But they’ve caused enough trouble and I’m not giving up. I will find out who burned the tree in Brice’s yard. I will find out who put fish in the Muslim girl’s locker. And who hung those warning signs all over school. And who threw that rock in my window. I am not afraid. And I’m not giving up.”
While he had no intention of giving up now, he would never do anything to put her in jeopardy. He wouldn’t visit her again, not for a while. And he wouldn’t talk to her at school either. He had to keep her out of this. He’d go totally dark and uncover these attackers before they struck again.
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